Friday, May 11, 2012

Slap Happy

Welcome to the first of my weekly Friday posts. I hope I didn't lose a bunch of people by slowing this thing down, but we'll see.

I wanted Handsome to clean his mess in the TV room. He decided he wanted to wrestle instead. He was moving at me through the kitchen like he wanted to grapple: feet spread wide, knees bent, hands moving in little circular motions like he was trying to stay loose and not be grabbed. Ready for anything.

“Go clean the TV room,” I said, and as he came at me I slapped him on the upper arm.

Now, for all of you who are cringing or frowning and thinking Bad parent! Child abuser!, let me explain. This is something I do sometimes when Handsome has decided he’s not going to stop, but will just continue wrestling with me despite my saying we are done. I choose a spot on him somewhere, preferably one with bare skin, and I slap it; not hard, but fast and loose. I’m not looking to bruise him, but to sting the skin. When he won’t stop, I slap it again. And again. And again. Every time he comes at me. It’s an open hand, sometimes just fingers without the palm (sometimes, rather than a slap, I’ll flick him in the same way, again and again), and none of these smacks, individually, does any damage. The first one or two aren’t even that painful, according to Handsome. The effect, though, is cumulative. Each successive slap on the same spot stings more and more as the skin on that spot becomes more and more sensitive.

The theory is that eventually he’ll decide he doesn’t want that to go on, and he’ll stop trying to wrestle with me and go do as I asked. The reality is that he’s very stubborn, and sometimes just refuses to quit. This may have been one of those times, but we’ll never know.

I slapped his arm.

I was wearing long sleeves, so rather than slapping me he punched my shoulder.

I slapped his arm.

He punched my shoulder.

I slapped his arm.

He punched my shoulder.

I slapped his arm, but he turned, I misjudged, and I slapped him harder than I meant to, right on the very sensitive spot I had so carefully cultivated. His eyes grew wide, and he looked suddenly angry, though this had been somewhat fun for him up until that point.

I have to admit I felt bad.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m sorry about that. We need to be done now, seriously.”

He still looked angry, and like he was in no mood to let it go like that.

“Alright,” I said, looking to appease him and just get him to clean that TV room. “One free shot, okay?”

He braced himself to give me a good one as I bent forward and tucked up my arm to lower my shoulder into his strike zone and give him a good target. Leaned forward like that, I couldn’t see his face, but I had a clear view of his feet as he suddenly jumped up in the air. Expecting a hard punch to the shoulder, I was understandably confused… right up until his palm cracked down on the back of my head and neck.

Now my slaps to his arm, though repetitive, had sounded weak. They were more fingers than palm, and I was going for the sting. When Handsome’s hand came down in the back of my head there was a sounds like the bull whip makes when they do that act in the circus.

It was sharp.

It was loud.

And it hurt like @#$%^!!!!

I crumpled to the floor as the pain grew. He’d hit me so hard and fast my nerve endings couldn’t cope with the work-load all at once. The pain started out shocking, but grew to blinding as more of my nervous system was pre-empted to deal with the work and for a few moments I couldn’t see.

“…Holy… holy $#/T…” I said. When I could see again, Handsome was looking at me, concerned.

“You alright?”

“Go clean the TV room. I’m just gonna lie here for a while.”

By the time I could get up, he was deep into cleaning the room. I went into the bathroom and checked in the mirror. There was a beautiful red hand print right across the back of my head and upper neck. The skin there was still sensitive and hot to the touch hours later when I got home and got ready for bed.

No, I made no retaliation against Handsome for the slap. I had told him he had a ‘free shot’, and I think he just had as lucky a shot as mine against him was unlucky.

Next time, though, I won’t leave the ‘free shot’ so open. I’ll have to make some rules. Or wear a helmet.